Seeing Right Through Me
by Shade of Euphoria
Summary: This angel is broken, truly fallen. Always alone before, now that the only one to ever love him is gone, what's left? Follow Specter as he slowly picks up the shattered pieces of his heart and will himself to give it to someone lossus/OMC


Twisting around the moment his booted foot connected with cracked pavement the raven-haired teen flung his last knife; using the momentum of his spin to sink the weapon deep into his closest pursuer. The teen smirked triumphantly as the man fell off the car he had jumped onto moments ago stifling a yelp as a barrage of bullets polka dotted the vehicle behind him and the crack of gunfire deafened him.

Darting over to his fallen assailant he unsheathed the knife from the man's ribs and leapt over the car. Taking off at a run he darted through abandoned stores, empty streets, and dank alleyways; all ruins, hardly able to bear the strain of the sea breeze that blew through the city.

On the second floor of a relatively well preserved apartment complex the teen had just run through an intersection of two hallways and a stair case, white skin glistened with sweat and shone like the moon in the brief rays of sunlight leaking through the cracks. The door at the end of the hallway straight in front of him shattered to splinters the hinges clanking as they fell to the thinly carpeted flooring. Lasers splattered the walls in a bloody red and without a moment to process his thoughts the dark haired boy dove to his right; a dead-end hall with a fire escape attached to the window.

Bullets laced the air and speed towards him easily pushing through the thin sheetrock and secondhand wood doors covering the teen in white powder as he flew through the air. He hit the ground hands first and tuck-n-rolled into a sloppy summersault losing control as his stomach shot fiery tendrils of pain through his abdomen. He nearly made it to his feet but the pain blossoming in his torso increased and he stumbled a few steps before crashing hard on his hands and knees turning them an angry red with carpet burn. Looking down his fears were confirmed, a scarlet stain spread on his left side making the stretchy material of his shirt stick to his skin in irritating bunches.

He tried to get up but the nauseating pain made his knees buckle beneath him, so, taking his only from its sheath around his leg he propped himself up on his elbows and slowly crawled away from his shooters.

The first of the shooters to round the corner saw the flash of silver slicing through the air, heard it whistle as it danced closer. The adrenaline that had been pumping almost nonstop through his veins since the chase began allowed him enough time to sidestep the spinning dagger; his teammate was not so fortunate. Ignoring the gagging noises of the other man the two remaining shooters slowly edged down the hallway, checking each door in turn, as their teammate was left behind to drown in his own blood, a knife protruding from his throat.

Securing all the doors on either side of the hall they followed the trail of blood and disturbed dust to the window, the only remaining escape for their prey. Not bothering to try and slide through the window the larger of the two men put a boot through the window followed by a shoulder and finally the rest of him, destroying the window frame and sending shards of glass everywhere. Brushing the glass from his shoulders the mercenary took a tentative step forward and turned to motion for his partner to follow when pain lance up his leg and the back of his heel; he crumpled to the metal grating with a pained shout. The mercenary saw the glass slice through the air and screamed when the pale child plunged it into the exposed flesh of his neck.

In a flash the teen dove for the gun attached to the man's hip and unlatched the holster he swiveled painfully to face his last opponent. A boot connected with the gun as, with sweaty fingers he tried to use his waning strength to pull the trigger. The gun flew from his hands just as the bullet left the gun and embedded itself into the foot of the mercenary. He too fell to ground howling in pain as a crimson river flowed from his foot.

The teen scrambled away desperately trying to find a piece of glass or a gun, any weapon he could get his hands on; tears streamed down his face as the pain pulsated with the rhythm of his fluttering heartbeat and his vision blurred in time with it.

A vicious kick to his side, the same one with the bullet wound, sent his body into spasms of pain and darkened his already fading vision to a hazy fog. A foot on his back kept him in place as a fist bunched in his hair and pulled his upper torso off the ground a click and the cold pressure of metal against his skull was all he needed to hear. He was going to die.

"**Simulation Terminated. Simulation Terminated"**

The mechanical voice resonated throughout the entire city sounding everywhere at once with no way to discern the source of it and the head of raven hair slumped to the floor as the man holding his hair, with pain all too real, pixilated along with the entire city and faded into the cold, gray metal floor of the simulation room.

With an unreasonably pissed expression the moon-skinned boy narrowed his violet eyes at the control room, the small rectangle-the only disturbance to the smooth dome shaped cavern-holding all controls for simulations, including the abort codes. "Logan." He hissed accusingly, his voice holding no small amount of venom.

The doors to the locker rooms-a separating room between the underground hallways and the simulation room-were violently flung open, the small rubber stoppers screwed into the cold grey metal being the only thing preventing the doors from smashing into the walls. Steam billowed out into the hall as if to set the mood for the entrance of the boy with the seething expression and eyes that promised pain.

He was back in his normal attire or as normal as it would get. A pair of black leather pants that clung to all the right places and hung low of square hips, corset style drawstrings ran up the thigh of each leg the amount of skin exposed increasing the further north you looked till it stopped about 3 to 4 inched from his hips. Dark red nearly black boots covered in an assortment of buckles and zippers covered the pant leg up to the knee. His chest clad in a black tuxedo vest over short-sleeved red fishnet and from his one partially exposed hip, all signs of injury gone with the simulation, hung five red chains of varying lengths and widths.

Fists clenched, shoulders taught in inexplicable agitation, he flicked his long oil black bangs from his face with one angry twitch of his head. He literally marched down the hall stopping at an empty space of wall only twenty feet from the locker rooms and smashed his index finger into the wall with 

more than enough force to open the panel. The small square of wall he jabbed slid back and revealed a thumb and keypad with his stabbed at with his spidery digits and then gently, as to not break the scanner, placed his thumb on the pad. He waited for the computer to process and let out a huff when the machine finally worked and the same mechanical voice from before spoke **"Welcome, Specter."** The panel closed and after a few moments a door sized section of wall disappeared into the floor.

Clomping up stairs with much more force than necessary he reached for the handle only to find it locked. With an annoyed sigh he walked, hands in front of him, straight through the closed door and saw his suspicions confirmed. The grayish tan swivel chair turned to face him and revealed to him the hairy behemoth of an imbecile known as Logan in all his feral glory.

"The Hell, Logan!?" the milky white teen shouted at the much bulkier man.

"Specter, why was the pain repression program turned off?" The glint in his golden eyes combined with the quite way with which he spoke drained the fire from the boy's eyes. Specters eyes widened at the tone, Logan was pissed. Not good.

"Because," the raven haired teen mumbled, his head hung low, bangs falling back into his face to cover half of his features behind its shadowy curtain.

"Because why!?" Logan all but roared at him. Specter opened his mouth to explain but the burly man was not finished. "Do you enjoy hurting yourself? Is this some sick attempt at punishing yourself, cuz if it is le'me tell you--"

"NO!" Specter yelled, not caring if he was interrupting he just wanted it to stop. " I do it because…because I want, no _need_ to be stronger, Logan! Not everyone's like you! If I was ever in that situation again, I don't want to rely on my powers," he nearly spat the last part, "to save me and…and" His voice broke as he tried to say it, his voice refused to say it. 'And my friends' he thought.

Logan's eyes softened and an almost guilty looked flashed across them. "That situation." He repeated softly, an empty whisper of a heartbreaking memory. 'What it must be doing to him…eating away' Logan moved to embrace the small teen in his muscular arms.

He had barely lifted the cub-"His cub" as he had come to think of him. A son or a little brother.-off the ground before the weight vanished. Wolverine opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and saw his cub looking intently at the ground. He tried to grab the smaller male but his hands passed through him as if he were no more tangible than the air he breathed.

"Jake," he started, not sure what to say. His emotions danced from hurt to sympathetic but the crying child he longed to hold only turned around and walked through the still closed door to leave Logan alone, cursing at himself.

Up on the roof, the wind blew his pitch black hair in a mess of directions. He didn't notice; the only thing he saw was the night his world, stable after so much confusion, came crashing down around him. And that was almost a year ago, the grieving needed to stop, but he didn't want to, didn't want to 

try and forget. Images flashed behind his eyes; white feathers which brought memories of their own, then fire and finally death. Death of the one person that broke through, the one to teach him that love was truly real. That it could be his. But that was impossible now, that person was gone.

The groaning of unkempt hinges broke through his painful memories and he was torn between upset and thankful for the distraction. A head of raven hair peered over the Gothic molding of the boarding school's wooden architecture and with a questioning glance the violet eyes stared down at the main entrance. Curiosity engaged, not to many students used the front gate optioning out for the less visible back entrances and then through the parking lot. And seeing as it was a Wednesday, and barely 1:00 in the afternoon, all students, and staff were required to be on school grounds. Which left only one thing. New arrival.


End file.
